


That's What Bilbo Baggins Hates!

by Arura



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, Mild Angst, adaption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arura/pseuds/Arura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo tries to cope with being home at Hobbiton after his unexpected journey with the Oakenshield Company. <br/>He remembers a song to lift his spirits again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's What Bilbo Baggins Hates!

Bilbo could not comprehend as to why the journey seemed so short coming back than it did going forward, but he found his Shire once again after what seemed like an eternity and yet no time seems to have passed. Same quiet neighbors tending their simple chores, same familiar smell of chimney smoke, the children seemed only a little taller though. 

The now retired Burglar anticipated and dreaded the judgmental stares and gossip that will no doubt reach his ears some way, form or fashion. It was, of coarse, improper for a respectable hobbit to go rushing about on adventure for a goal that was clearly not his own. Not that Bilbo was not used to the teasing and jeering of his peers. Growing up, that was all he heard. The Took side of his blood seemed to be an embarrassment for some reason and the Baggins side was supposed to be seen at all times. There for, as the adventurous tike began to grow into his inheritance, the wonder filled hobbit grew to be isolated and deprived himself of fun, for it was the "proper" thing to do. Bilbo was supposed to be calm, collected and "normal." Instead Bilbo collected books based on fantasy and treasures that was beyond any imagination. Those items were his own business, but Hobbiton seemed too small to keep one's own secret for long. 

Bilbo ignored the glances in his direction as he guided his pony to his yard toward Bag-End. His ears twitched at the chatter about how large the chest was that rode upon the pony's back. But Mr. Baggins was too tired to be tolerant of his peers at the moment, so he was silent the whole trip across his humble town. He pulls his chest and other belongings off the pony's back, along with his saddle and reins. Then Bilbo retired inside, leaving his things at the door as he dragged his feet across the familiar rug. His eyes weary, he looked across his living room to see his harth and wondered if he had the strength to make himself a fire to cook or if he should just collapse upon his neglected bed and not move for the rest of his natural life. 

As Bilbo looked around his home, a soft grin came across his lips. Finally, after so long, after so many nights of shallow sleep and hard ground with only a think bed roll, Bilbo knew he was to have the deepest sleep of his life. Bilbo walked across his floor and towards his bedroom when he could have sworn to have heard a plate rattle in the dining room. Bilbo turned his head sharply and stared into the location, silently daring the even to happen again. 

The hobbit's feet took mind of their own and took him towards the table. Bilbo placed his fingertips and traced the polished wood surface. His mind was reliving the first song the Oakenshield Company ever sang in his home. He almost grinned at himself for being vexed so easily by a bunch of merry dwarves who merely wished to escape misery for just a short while.

A sigh escaped from Bilbo's chest as he thought out loud, "May as well get a fire going."

And so he did. Bilbo ventured out of his hobbit hole again to trace around his home to fetch the needed firewood, just an arm's full. Before completely retiring, he checked on his pony before admitting to himself that he desperately wanted rest. Once Bilbo laid down, his private fireplace lit and warming his room, he had no idea when he fell asleep. Before he knew it, the next day arrived. Yet, all the hobbit felt was being tired all over again. 

Bilbo did not remember any dreams. Perhaps his mind did not have the energy to muster one as he fell asleep like a stone falling into water. It was well into late afternoon he noticed. This was the latest he ever slept, or the sun decided to rise in a different horizon that particular day. 

"Well, Bilbo Baggins," he thought to himself, "It seems you slept most of the day away. And for some reason I am alright by it." 

The former Burglar looked down at himself and noticed he never changed out of his clothing. He was rather stunned at himself but remedied the situation easily enough. From Traveling clothes of tired fabrics, Bilbo changed into his lounging clothes. He remembered the weight of his his dress robe and found severe comfort within it. The feel of stronger fabrics against his skin gave him a certain warmth, this shirt and pants were not weathered or scraped by the world's natural spite. The robe smelt of his favorite tobacco, which caused his nerves to settle even more. So, with his clean clothes, and his worn down clothing finally put at rest to the side, Bilbo ventured outside to his pony again. Perhaps it was a lapse of memory or sanity, mayhaps Bilbo did not particularly care that he was exposing his favorite robe to his neighbors as he checked on his pony.

Just then, his eye caught hold of one of the younger Hobbits, one of the few that refused to turn away from Bilbo before he went away. Bilbo smiled at the lad and beckoned him closer. The youngster trotted forward and up the hill a bit, eyes round and bright with a warm smile.

"Welcome back, Mr. Bilbo!" said the young boy, whose gaze fell upon the pony with great admiration and excitement.

They chatted a moment and Bilbo tested the pony's tollerance of the boy. He watched how the young Brandybuck stroked the fur so carefully and breathed in wordless wonder at the animal.

"Do you know how to take care of such a beast?" asked Bilbo.

The young Brandybuck nodded furiously, "Oh yes sir! My father uses horses often to help pull boats along side the river. I groom them every morning and feed them three times a day."

"Can you spare the rations for one more?"

The boy realized what Bilbo was offering but asked non the less, "Sir?"

Bilbo shrugged lightly and patted the pony's shoulder gently, "I haven't the supply here, nor the room to hold this dear animal. Though he and I have been through a long journey together, here in Bag-End, I can't care for him. Could you do it for me?"

The boy's face lit up, "I always wanted a horse of my own. I would be honored Mr. Baggins!"

Bilbo chuckled. "He is yours then. As I recall..." he trailed off as he turned himself around to find the reins and saddle he placed so carelessly next to his fense. "Ah!" Bilbo scooped down and hoisted the folded reines and saddle.

A few moments later, one more worry on Bilbo's mind walked away with a very happy young hobbit. Which set Bilbo's heart at ease a bit more. He returned inside and decided to fix himself his dinner.

Bilbo chuckled at himself as he looked onward into the bare pantry. How silly of him to have forgotten that his home was cleaned out of food just the night before he set off with The Company. He remembered how frustrated and flustered he was. How petty, looking back. Bilbo looked down into the drawer where he kept his silver, surprised that they were still there. He picked up a knife and inspected the edge of it. It was still sharp, no damaged in the slightest. Bilbo grinned and lowered the utensil. He fretted over nothing back then. Bilbo was so consumed with the Baggin's facade back then, that even himself was convinced. Such an uptight living he had before Gandalf showed up so un-expectantly. But now, after being exposed to shallow sleep and nomadic rituals of travel, Bilbo found such a constricted life more stressful. 

With the dwarves, once he remembered what it was like to give in to his adventurous side again, Bilbo actually felt excepted. He belonged. After proving himself not a burden, that he could be useful, the Company seemed to have embraced and trusted him. No gossip, no judgment, it was just him, Bilbo Baggins, the improvised burglar. Bilbo replaced the knife with a fork and placed it on the table before he searched for a bowl. He remembered there were still rations in his pack from last night, he would have that before going to the market.

As the Master of Bag-End sat at his table with a bowl of stew in front of him, he listened to the quiet. It took him half way into the meal to realize how quiet it really was. It was strange to Bilbo not to hear the rustling of trees at a personal distance, or feeling the brisk cold of what the wind brought down from the mountain tops. Bilbo was safe and sheltered once again. Alone and comfortable. There was no snoring of thirteen dwarves. There was no howl of a wolf in the distance. No owl on a branch. No stories, no singing, there was nothing but Bilbo and the fireplace that made any notion of noise within the house.

The solitude was numbing, which placed Bilbo in a neutral state of awareness. His body felt heavy as he stared into the empty bowl before him. Then his ear twitched again. The rattle of a plate. Bilbo turned his head again to listen for the sound again and patted the table nervously. 

Drumming the table with his fingers triggered a memory for Bilbo, a rather amusing one. His mind turned back the hands of time, which let him hear the song once again. How the dwarves teased Bilbo for being so frantic with his heirloom of the house. Surely they understood the value of inheritance, but Bilbo did admit his behavior did seem a bit manic.

Bofur's whimsical voice came to Bilbo's ear, though the body of the voice was no where to be seen, "Do you hear that lads? He says we'll blunt the knives!"

Bilbo smiled, then a sadness took him. He missed them. Those confounded, home crashing, heart wrenching, mischievous dwarves. Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Fili, Kili, Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, Gloin, Balin and Dwalin. Their booming voices, their incredible personalities, everything. How they never held back for a moment in their lives, how loud they were, and yet so careful and graceful despite the hardships each one of them had suffered.   
Being alone. That's what Bilbo Baggins hates.  
Something snapped within Bilbo as he stood up from his chair so suddenly. He went to his pantry, remarkably, there was one bottle left of red wine. Bilbo snatched the bottle up and stared down at it. His feet stamped to the beat within his head and Bilbo marched across his house, humming and singing a tune.

"La la la, L-la-la-la-laaaa!" Bilbo began, now his knees and feet are lifting up into the air in a comedic fashion. "That's what Bilbo Baggins Hates!"

He spun around, the bottle still in hand, he danced in his hallway, imitating his memory of the Dwarves singing. 

"Blunt the knives, bend the forks,  
Smash the bottles and burn the corks,  
Chip the glasses and crack the pla~tes!  
That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

Brashly, Bilbo pulled the cork from the bottle, leaving it open, not bothering to find a glass. He carelessly tossed the cork towards the fireplace, for his mind was convinced he did not need to stop up the bottle before he was done for the night. The cork indeed burned in the bottom of the fireplace. He turned around and found a table cloth then snatched it up with his free hand, intentionally snagging it the best he could on something edged, like the binding henge of a his well earned, but fairly frayed chest of treasure. Bilbo also began to sling the contents of his wine bottle as his movements became more wild as he danced. The wine splashed against the main door and onto the floor, staining the rug as well.

"Cut the cloth and tread the fat,  
Leave the bones on the bedroom mat,  
Pour the milk on the pantry floo~r,  
Splash the wine on every door!"

Bilbo threw the bottle against a wall.

"Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl,  
Pound them up with a thumping pole,  
And when you’ve finished if any are who~le,  
Send them down the hall to roll!"

Hands above his head, Bilbo danced a jig, round and round he danced. Then with a start, Bilbo leaped and tumbled down his hallway with a skilled roll he learned by evading a wrathful blow from an Orc. Then he popped back onto his feet like nothing happened at all, throwing his arms up into the air and shouted with absolute glee, "That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!”

With only the quiet night to applaud him, Bilbo slowly lowered his arms and head, suddenly ashamed by his own behavior. Had he gone mad? Perhaps he had, because when he sat in front of his fireplace, he did not choose the comfortable arm chair but the floor instead. Then Bilbo layed on his side, using his own arm as a pillow. He stared into the flames in front of him, his eyes felt dry and hot. For a time Bilbo closed his eyes, submitting to his loneliness as tears dripped from the seals of his eyelids. Master Baggins of Bag-End wept for his lost companions. Wept for words that were left unsaid. He wept for the angry words he had instead. Flashes of that pointless, wasteful war flickered in his mind. Bilbo suppressed a howl with his hand and curled himself tighter in front of the fire as he sobbed. He remembered Thorin. That stubborn prince with the rough voice and courageous heart. The tight gratitude he quietly shared with Bilbo as Thorin realized that the hobbit was not a burden at all. Bilbo trembled and shook pathetically on the floor of his living room, choking on his own sorrow and regret.

He wanted to hear his voice again. He wanted to feel those tight, powerful arms again. He wanted to just see him again and that would be just fine. Alive and unharmed. Such a longing Bilbo had for the past. If only he had done something different. If only he had been firmer with Thorin, perhaps the share of wealth would not have been so high a price to pay. If only... 

Bilbo continued to lay there until he fell asleep.

It was until the next morning when he heard his door creak open that caused Bilbo to awake. Someone had wandered into his home and was being very slow about it. Bilbo continued to lay as still as he could, his senses alert. He prayed it was Gandalf with his uncanny timing. But alas, it was not the Gray Wizard. It was Petunia from down the hill. A severely nosey hobbit who lived for sticking her nose in other people's business. No doubt she caused most of the rumors against Bilbo. Not intentional to ruin him, he gave her the benefit of the doubt. Petunia lacked certain feyness when it came to information, which often fell loosely from those thin lips of hers. However, she was trespassing and Bilbo was far from feeling patient at the time. 

Bilbo sat up suddenly, which startled Ms. Petunia to nearly stagger out of the hobbit hole entrance. Master Baggins had a frown and a furrowed brow on his face, which alerted Petunia rather easily.

"Goodness sakes, Mr. Baggins!" Petunia gasped, "I thought you've died off."

"Well clearly I'm alive, so please be on your way." Bilbo waved out the door dismissively as he gripped the edge of the door. 

"I was only expressing concern Mr. Baggins, I meant no offense," Perunia mentioned defensively, but with a light tone in her voice. "With your travels and all, I thought a bandit followed you and took your gold. I was only concerned."

Bilbo narrowed his gaze on her, he felt his own blood run cold, "Are you spreading rumors I've got gold? What business is that of yours?"

"I-It's only logic, Mr. Baggins. You came back with a pony and a chest. One would only assu-"

"Why don't you be a sensible hobbit and mind your own business?" Bilbo raised his voice sharply at the woman. "I'm isolated enough as it is, thank you very much. Certainly no thanks to your loose tongue and my Took heritage that I apparently could not suppress. Be on your way woman!" Bilbo threatened to slam the door on the poor hobbit's toes if she did not move quickly enough.   
Petunia whimpered and scampered away. Only after slamming the door did Bilbo realize his behavior a moment too late. There was no need to be so angry, he knew that. What if Petunia was genuinely concerned? Bilbo sighed to himself and flopped himself into his arm chair, staring at the curly hair on his feet. 

"What am I doing?" he asked himself. "I feel so lost. More than before..."

Bilbo rubbed his face, his mind racing, "Surely Petunia is going to say I've gone mad and should be tied down as a lunatic. Wouldn't that be marvelous? Oh Bilbo Baggins, you've gotten yourself in trouble again."

He rolled his head towards the dead fireplace and stared at the ashes from the previous night. He stared at the cold chamber and closed his eyes again, drifting into sleep again, amazingly.

It seemed like days before Bilbo was productive at all. Surely he bought himself enough food to restock his pantry, but that was all he ever did since his home coming. He still had no desire to mingle with his fellow hobbits just yet, which did not help his reputation any. However, his reputation was far from his mind. What was closer to his thoughts was Thorin again. He regretted that it took the Mountain King's deathbed to cause the two to talk on softened terms. Bilbo felt something cold fill his chest as he remembered how wounded Thorin's once mighty body was. The memory was so vivid, Bilbo would swear he could count how many droplets of sweat was on Thorin's dirty brow as he struggled for breath. How angry Bilbo was at himself for taking such a warrior for granted. He just knew Thorin would miraculously survive the battle as he did so many times before with orcs, trolls, and goblins. Surely scrapes and bruises would have happened, that would be practical. But to be injured like that... 

Bilbo breathed deeply as he opened his eyes, the afternoon sun beaming down on him through one of his widows. Listening to the silence of his home again, Bilbo caught himself committing a disturbing thought. What if he ended his own life right now? So this melancholy thinking could plague him no longer and he could join his comrades once again. Bilbo actually sat up and literally slapped the thought out of his head. 

"No!" he thought to himself. "Thorin would think me weak for that. No way I'm reverting to such a level." 

Yet the sadness stayed. The loneliness was threatening his sanity it seemed. Perhaps it would be a good idea to mingle again. The quiet of Bag-End was disturbing Bilbo too greatly to linger any longer. He got up from his chair, worked the stiffness out of his neck and shoulders as he searched for his day-time clothing in his closet. Taking hold of one of his jackets that had all of their buttons, Bilbo ventured out into the open sunlight. He squinted at the afternoon above him, then down at his homeland below his hill. With a deep breath, Bilbo dared himself to step outside his comfort zone once again and tried to be a hobbit again. The first act was to go to Petunia's garden to apologize for his previous behavior. He was determined to not leave Petunia in a sour state; once was too many times in Bilbo's opinion. Once forgiveness was in grasp, Bilbo's shoulders gradually lightened as he continued his walk within Hobbiton. Humming to himself.

"Blunt the knives, bend the forks,  
Smash the bottles and burn the corks,  
Chip the glasses and crack the pla~tes!  
That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

With a kick of his heels, Bilbo made himself smile. If he could relearn how to be a Took, perhaps Bilbo could relearn how to be social. It proved to be right for a time, and he was alright by that.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this before "Sands of Time," about a month ago. 
> 
> I lost someone dear to my heart almost five years ago now. Which might have shown a smidgen in this story. I hope that it may lift your spirits as well, or at least help give you that push to step over that threshold.


End file.
